


Moonlit

by Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Demisexual Fenris, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mention of major character death, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness
Summary: After the death of his husband, Fenris is invited to Skyhold to collect his lover's belongings and grieve in peace. His heart is badly battered, but in the hands of a necromancer, nothing stays dead for long.--“That’s the Magister?” Fenris asked Varric.“Altus, not Magister, and yes, that’s him.”“Talking about me, Varric?” Said-Altus stopped beside him, and to Fenris’ surprise, bowed before him with the Tevinter traditional way usually meant for the mage social class. An Altus would never bow for someone below them, and even less for an ex-slave who liked to kill his kind. “Allow me to introduce myself. Dorian Pavus, pleased to finally meet you, Fenris. Ab imo pectore, I have nothing but respect for your work.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompts: "For the secretly we all love angst sentence starters - I can't fall in love with you. I don't want all the pain that comes with it. Pairing is Fenris x Dorian?" and "Hi! If it is alright, for the fluff starters meme - You look handsome in the moonlight for Dorian x Fenris?"

Hawke was dead. Killed in the Fade to defend the Inquisitor and his companions. It was a noble act, one Fenris wasn’t surprised Hawke committed. Varric had described in his letter the commemoration done in his honor.

Fenris hated it all. He hated them all; the Inquisitor who allowed his lover to jump to his death, his Inner Circle companions who hadn’t done anything to stop it. He couldn’t endure the thought he’d died to protect almost-strangers simply for he pretended Corypheus was his responsibility.

The inquisitor wasn’t heartless, however. His letter accompanied Varric’s, apologizing in numerous ways and inviting him to Skyhold. He missed the commemoration, but personal effects were left untouched in the quarters Hawke had had been allocated.

Fenris didn’t want to go at first, didn’t want to walk on his lover’s last steps. It would be too painful. Once he realized he was almost killing himself in his slaver hunting, he digressed and set himself for Skyhold. The road was easy to follow once he arrived in Ferelden, leaving his mind free to make assumptions on what he’d find. Varric had described the companions as odd a group as they used to be in Kirkwall. He’d see for himself soon enough.

Skyhold was a sight to behold, especially after weeks of travel. Fenris was longing for a good night of sleep, but he dreaded the moment reality would hit him and tell him that no, Garrett wasn’t coming back.

He walked through the opened gates without any problem. They’d spotted him and opened them without discussion, which Fenris was thankful for. He didn’t know how he should react when he met the Inquisitor. From Varric and his own letter, he seemed like an admirable man forced between two difficult choices. He knew Garrett was thick-headed when he wanted, something he loved about him. Had loved of him.

A small welcome party was waiting for him in the courtyard. He immediately recognized Varric, pushed at the front as the least person to be threatened by Fenris. His face was solemn, a careful mask to hide the pain away.

“Broody!” He called him, a pleased smile spreading on his face, his eyes too tired to pretend.

“Varric.” They didn’t hug, but Varric shook his arm like comrades did.

“Where’s the Inquisitor?”

“He wanted to let you settle down before greeting you,” Cullen explained. Fenris noticed he looked way better than he did in Kirkwall. He stood straighter, the mantle making him look regal. The woman who stood at his side was a stranger, but she met his gaze without blinking.

“This is Cassandra Pentaghast,” Varric presented her, his smile more genuine and fond.

“Pleased to meet you, despite the circumstances,” she said. She hesitated, then said: “I greatly admired Hawke.”

Fenris nodded, as he didn’t know what to say.

“I am Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition ambassador. I will show you to your room,” she said with a pleasant accent. A calm aura surrounded her, the eye of the tornado, and he immediately took a liking to her.

He bid goodbye to the rest, promising Varric he’d meet him later, and followed Josephine up the stone stairs leading inside. They entered the kitchens, then an empty room that led to the main hall. The throne room, as it appeared, with the heavy throne sat at the end. For the moment, it was empty, and Fenris wondered how it felt to take place in it. It wasn’t just a city’s responsibilities, but the whole of Thedas. He had yet to grasp the reality of it.

“We prepared a room for you above the gardens. It’ll be quiet.”

“Which one was Hawke’s room?”

Josephine faltered her steps, but the look she gave him wasn’t judgemental. “I’ll show you to his. It has been cleaned but wasn’t prepared to accept a guest.”

Fenris groaned. “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to little.”

Josephine smiled at him, but he saw a calculating look in her eyes at his words. She seemed like a delicate, poised woman, but perhaps there was more to her. 

The room was in perfect order when they entered. It wasn’t spacious but Fenris was only eyeing the bags he recognized right away, as he had been filling them with supplies before Hawke left him. He respectively let Josephine explain to him the water system, nodding and thanking her. Luckily she saw he wanted some solitude and quickly left after that, letting him know a meal would be served in the main hall soon.

A sense of loss overtook him once the door was closed and he was alone in the room. It didn’t smell anything in particular, but knowing Hawke had spent his last days here meant something. He walked to the bags on the small table. Bags taken from Garrett’s tent. With a heavy heart, Fenris began to look through them, smiling bitterly at some of the items. There was a lot of rubbish Fenris wasn’t even surprised Hawke didn’t throw away. He kept a lot of items until Fenris would one day search in them for something and come out with bent lockpicks – knowing full well Garrett couldn’t lockpick a lock even if it was unlocked -, empty dirty flasks or some odd statuettes Garrett liked to keep because they looked pretty. Fenris would throw everything away and ignore Garrett’s pout.

 This time he didn’t find much. Garrett probably didn’t have much time to loot every barrel on the way to Skyhold. He found clothes, his beard oil that reminded him of all the times they kissed and Fenris would smell that odor. It meant happiness, love, a home.

Fenris stared at the small vial for a long moment, then set it on his bedside. He also found his diary that he’d seen him write almost every night during their traveling together, and he put it on his bed to read later. He didn’t have the heart to look into Hawke’s belongings, so he stopped and filled the tub instead to take a much needed bath.

He removed his armor and set it aside to clean and polish it later on. He took a clean tunic and leathers and set them aside before stepping into his bath. There was an array of soaps and tools to clean, and Fenris had the luxury to smell them all before choosing an apple scented one. How they managed to make soap smells like apples, he didn’t know, but he lathered himself with it. He took another one made for his hair and gently washed it, using a wide-teeth comb to remove the knots. Garrett used to do this for him.

He relaxed afterwards, massaged his feet and watched the water ripple around him. Drops fell from his fingers like tears down cheeks. Except he wouldn’t cry. His pain was deeper than his throat, settled in the pit of his chest and wouldn’t come out. He still believed Garrett would open the door in a bang and join him in the bath, and his heart ached every time he realized it wouldn’t happen. He was gone.

He still remembered their last conversation. Garrett had asked him where he wanted to take some time off, said he wanted to go somewhere cozy and sunny so he could watch his half-naked body all the time. Fenris had scoffed, his cheeks reddening under Garrett’s usual bluntness. Years together and Garrett was still able to make him blush.

At the time he wondered why Garrett asked him about possible vacations. For him killing slavers was vacations enough. The next morning he woke up with a note from his lover asking him not to follow him, that he had things to settle. Of course he would think he was responsible for Corypheus. He thought it was his family’s duty to make sure the false god was either dead or kept from doing harm, and it led him to his death.

The sorrow of realizing he would no longer be with him at his side, never again witnessing the crinkled eyes and blinding smile. His weight at his back and his fingers tracing the lyrium patterns along his back. His husky voice in the morning, the small huff he made when he stretched his long arms to the ceiling and pushed himself on the tip of his toes, arching his back just so Fenris became interested. How he’d ask for Fenris’ help to buckle his armor even though he could very well do it himself, and Fenris would indulge him only to see his smile again. His soft kisses on his brow or temple when they hugged, more meaningful than all the sex and the words he could muster.

He would no longer see any of that, experience it. He was left all alone, not even with bones to bury. All that remained was the hollowness of his soul and the ache in his heart.

He dried himself with a towel and dressed himself. He didn’t put on his dirty armor but strapped on his belt to tug a dagger to it, just in case. He tied his hair in a careless bun, reminding himself he needed to cut it.

He made his way through the quiet gardens. Plants were installed all over, their fragrances following him to the main hall. There weren’t only nobles there now, the tables were occupied all over. Luckily no one seemed to notice his entrance, chatting and eating as they were. There was a camaderie in the air, reminding him of the group in Kirkwall that was no more but memories, and he forced his feet to throttle towards the only persons he knew in the room.

“Broody!” Varric smiled at him, made space for him on the bench. The persons stopped talking as he settled himself between him and a large Qunari. He began to pile food on his plate, hungry now that he was in front of it.

“Varric didn’t tell me you had white hair,” an elf in front of him commented, which made him look at her. “It looks rad. I’m Sera, by the way.”

“Charmed. Varric never mentioned you in any of his letters.”

That made them laugh, and everyone presented themselves. Everyone was kind if a bit unsure of what topic to approach. Cullen and another man with a moustache joined them a little bit later. Cullen was laughing at whatever he was saying.

“As if you cheating would’ve improved your skills.”

“May I remind you I won a round a few days ago?” The man had a Tevinter accent to go with his facial hair, yet no one looked at the duo twice.

“That’s the Magister?” Fenris asked Varric.

“Altus, not Magister, and yes, that’s him.”

“Talking about me, Varric?” Said-Altus stopped beside him, and to Fenris’ surprise, bowed before him with the Tevinter traditional way usually meant for the mage social class. An Altus would never bow for someone below them, and even less for an ex-slave who liked to kill his kind. “Allow me to introduce myself. Dorian Pavus, pleased to finally meet you, Fenris. _Ab imo pectore_ , I have nothing but respect for your work.”

Fenris was not expecting this. Dorian outstretched his hand, and after a beat, Fenris placed his on top. The mage delicately kissed his chuckles before letting go and taking a step back. It was a gesture slaves and Soporati were taught as a sign of respect to any Altus. Dorian knew what he was doing, staring straight into his eyes with a polite smile. He wasn’t being cocky or arrogant but instead showing a genuine respect that confused Fenris. Was he trying to win him so he could manipulate him, perhaps the first step of a plan to satisfy his Venatori superiors?

After a beat, Fenris nodded. “Varric told me about you. Don’t bow to me again, it is unnecessary.”

“Of course.”

He sat somewhere a little further and that was that. Fenris talked a bit more, but he was tired from his trip and he excused himself early. The inquisitor wasn’t there when he left, which made him wonder if he was avoiding him altogether.

He arrived at his quarters and there was a man waiting for him. At first Fenris thought it was just a servant, but the rich fabric of his simple outfit and the glowing hand gave him away. He turned towards him, his expression hidden, but he approached Fenris with assured steps.

“My apologies for not greeting you properly when you first arrived. I was in a meeting all day long, then had to take care of other matters.”

“Erimond’s judgment.”

“Among other things, yes.”

Fenris entered his room, let the door open as a silent invitation that Trevelyan took.

“I brought wine.” He produced wine and two glasses from what seemed like thin air, which made Fenris grunt in interest.

“Who told you how to get to my feelings?”

The Inquisitor laughed. “A certain dwarf might have slipped something. I hope you like this one, it’s from my personal collection.” He offered a glass half filled with the red liquid. He waited for Fenris to take a sip and install himself in a chair. “I wanted to come talk to you about Hawke. There’s no delicate way to say this, so I’ll simply be blunt.”

“Inquisitor…”

“Call me Jayden, please.”

“Jayden, your letter was quite explanatory.”

“It’s not enough. Hawke died because of a decision I made, because I opened a rift to the Fade itself. It’s my fault he died, and I don’t know if I can ask for your forgiveness when I won’t forgive myself.”

Jayden turned away, breathing deeply. “Leading this Inquisition has its lot of difficult decisions. Every day I have to choose who dies and who lives, I don’t know how I could endure it without the help of my advisors.”

Fenris remained silent. He wasn’t sure who Jayden was saying these words to.

“The worst is not to commit these decisions, but to watch the consequences of my actions unwind before me.”

“What would you have me do? You didn’t kill Hawke, he would’ve jumped ahead even without your consent. He always thought for the greater good than for himself and stayed true to his word. If he said Corypheus was his responsibility, then death was the only thing able to stop him.”

The inquisitor swirled his wine in the glass, downed it all at once. He licked his lips.

“9:20 was a good year,” Fenris piped in. Jayden looked up to meet his eyes.  

That divine sent person was a being made of flesh and bones and sentience just like he was. All wasn’t forgiven and forgotten, but both had their own pain to settle in their heart. Fenris was too fatigued to be angry any longer.

After a moment, Jayden settled in the other chair over by the fireplace.

“You have knowledge in wine?”

“I had the opportunity to taste many cities’ specialities while Hawke and I were on the run…”

 

 

Fenris spent the next weeks learning his way around Skyhold, discovering new rooms every day. He had the freedom to roam around without being questioned, probably with a word from the Inquisitor. He admitted he liked it here. He hadn’t spent any time with Hawke here, which meant it didn’t bring him any melancholic reminiscence. He was beginning to miss training. Of course he was still stretching every day and had polished his armor until he was sure it would blind his enemies from afar, but there was not enough space for him to train properly.

The next time he saw Dorian, he was striding in the gardens and stumbled upon Cullen and him playing chess together. It wasn’t the first time he was seeing them together, they appeared to be good friends despite the odds.

Cullen had changed for the best since his time in Kirkwall. Perhaps the city of chains had been too much on his soul with Meredith’s growing madness. Fenris knew of the events at Kinloch Hold, Varric was nothing but gossips on two legs with chest hair, he was aware of why Cullen had hated mages for so long. Now, however, he didn’t seem to mind them so much, romancing one at that. Jayden and him seemed very much in love, he was even ashamed to admit he envied their love at moments. To see them go all gooey in front of one another when his own love had been ripped away from him was painful, to say the least, but he was learning to live with it.

He would see the peak of the mountain if he persevered long enough.

“Fenris, did you come to witness my victory?” Dorian chimed in. Fenris noticed how his eyes lingered on him in an appreciative sweep. Josephine had provided him with fitting outfits while he was at Skyhold, the design more stylish than anything he ever owed. He liked how soft the fabric felt against his skin, as much as he also liked the sound leather made.

On the other side of the table, Cullen snorted, an easy smile curving his lips upwards. “It won’t happen even if you say it out loud, Dorian.”

“Such sassiness coming from you, Commander.”

Fenris crossed his arms, observed their game. “I used to play, a long time ago.”

“Perhaps we ought to play together sometimes, then.”

Cullen shared a meaningful look with Dorian, but didn’t say anything.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, Cullen,” Fenris said.

“Of course.” He meant to get up, but Fenris gestured for him to stay seated.

“If you leave, Dorian will cheat.”

“As if he needed me gone to do that.”

Dorian had an offended pout. “You accuse me without proof.”

He was wearing golden braces with a rich burgundy embroidered Tevinter tunic, leaving one of his arms mostly bare. It had a deep collar, and Fenris had a glimpse at a pierced nipple from his position. He ignored the hot flash of desire that crept in his lower stomach.

“I wanted to ask you if it was alright I train in the courtyard with your troops tomorrow?”

“Of course, Fenris. Cassandra and Iron Bull as well as his Chargers often train with us. Even Dorian sometimes deigns to bless us with his presence. He helps with the mage training.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Pavus, I suggest you hide better the chess pieces on your lap.”

Cullen laughed but didn’t appear surprised. “Caught in the act, Dorian.”

 

 

It felt good to train again. It relaxed his mind as his body. It was muscle memory at this point, moving his sword in practiced manoeuvres done over and over until he could do it in his sleep. He wasn’t practicing with the troops but alongside them in the courtyard, noting with satisfaction the rigor Cullen used. He was strict but offered advice and helped the weaker soldiers when needed.

He had the chance to witness some of the companions’ combat abilities, which were impressive. Iron Bull and the Chargers were a well-balanced team, and good drinking companions when Fenris needed some. Krem prove to have an interesting story, coming from Tevinter. He was a Soporatus, a free person almost only in name. Fenris never really had been intrigued by those who gave themselves into slavery to pay debts and survive, he always saw the act as desperate and futile. Meeting Krem gave him another perspective.

Someone he couldn’t read yet was Dorian. He was different from the Alti he met before – and not dead was only one of the qualificatives he would use. Yes, he was proud to be a mage, he was exuberant, but not arrogant. He had an easy smile around friends, flirted with about anyone, and liked the same kind of wine Fenris did. Underneath his easy-going appearance, he was a scholar at heart and could usually be found in the library, talking about different theories with either Solas or Dagna or drink alone at the Herald’s Rest. Fenris wasn’t blind either, the mage was gorgeous even with that obnoxious moustache of his; his mouth ever inviting despite some of the ridiculous words coming out of it.

He wanted to change Tevinter. Once this was over, that this Corypheus was dealt with, he was to return to Tevinter and make changes of his own. Fenris had overheard a conversation he was having with the Inquisitor and didn’t know what to make of it. There was so many horrible aspects to the Imperium that Fenris was wondering where he was going to start. Perhaps his goal was to become Archon, but then-

“I heard you like good wine.” Speaking of the wolf. Or the peacock, rather. Fenris looked up, taking in Dorian’s appearance. There was only him who could constantly complain about the cold, yet attempt to show as much skin in a creative way.

“Bonum vinum laetificat cor hominis. I heard the same about you,” Fenris replied, leaning back on the bench of the gardens. He already had a bottle of wine, but it was almost empty, and the sight of the bottle’s label that Dorian was extending to him was enough for him to make place for him.

“True, but it’s even better when you drink it in fine company. ” Dorian sat beside him, already removing the cork. “I didn’t know you liked the gardens. I usually see you in the courtyard or with Varric.” When Fenris looked at him curiously, he chuckled a bit sheepishly. “Your white hair is easy to distinguish.”

They both drank from the same bottle, not talking much. Fenris found himself looking at the stars, so bright in the sky, and the green Breach not removing anything to the sky’s beauty.

“Do you enjoy your time at Skyhold?” Dorian suddenly asked, his fingers brushing his hand when he grabbed the bottle. They were warm, real, and Fenris let out a huff as he stared at Dorian.

“What do you require of me, Dorian?” His question sobered the mage up. There was a lingering pause, then Dorian sighed.

“You wouldn’t be very good at the Game.”

“There’s no games to be played.”

Dorian shook his head, his expression hidden in the darkness. “Not that kind of game. It doesn’t matter. I simply wanted us to have a bit of fun.“

Fenris leaned towards Dorian, grabbed his bare arm. He could feel the magic sleeping in him, ready to serve. “I am in mourning, Dorian,” he snapped. “I lost my husband three months ago.”

Dorian looked at his marks shivering with light, then at his angry eyes. Fenris realized he probably was hurting him, but Dorian didn’t make any move to make him let go. “I could help you forget,” he stated, serious and honest.

Fenris let go of him and stood up. “I cannot have sex with someone whom I don’t share a bond with, but I can’t fall in love with you either. I don’t want all the pain that comes with it. I’m sorry.”

He walked back to his room, leaving Dorian behind.

 

 

Time passed. Fenris continued to assist the Inquisition in its quests. He needed no excuses to kill slavers and Tevinter magisters, and it considerably brightened up his mood every time they would defeat a Venatori camp.

There was always something he could help with, as the Inquisition never stopped, and if he was at Skyhold, Fenris would train, spar with the other companions, drink. He finally got to begin reading Garrett’s diary. He had mixed emotions about doing so, but in the end his curiosity won. Clearly Garrett was writing for himself and nobody else, as his writing was left to be desired at some places, but he had been the one teaching him how to write, so Fenris probably was the only one able to decipher him properly.

His humor was just as ridiculous in his diary, and Fenris found himself laughing more than he thought he would. Other passages were more difficult and brought tears to his eyes, but he continued on. The diary was starting a little before the downfall of Kirkwall and went on during their travels together. He would talk about the other companions and news they had of them, but he would mostly talk about Fenris. His love was spread in words, in his depictions of events where Fenris either had to save slaves or help Garrett get out of a precarious situation the mage had put them into, which had been a regular occurrence.

Fenris tried not to read too much at once to enjoy it as long as possible, but on days the ache was too much, he would allow himself to read more than a few pages.

After his last conversation with Dorian, things were a bit awkward between them. Fenris regretted his direct approach, he hadn’t meant for the other’s feelings to be hurt, but it was better this way. His heart was still healing, and Dorian deserved more than a man, a wolf whose wounds were barely closed.  

It didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his company, however. Their friendship took a curve when Fenris rejected him, but Dorian was brilliant and understood he’d gone too far. His apology came in the way of more wine and an apple pie, which surprised Fenris. Varric had probably spilled his love of apples.

Dorian had been the one delivering the pie in person, a bit embarrassed but still trying to amend, and it had touched the elf more than any spoken apology could have. They ate half the pie each accompanied by the wine that day and talked of magic – the good and the bad of it. Fenris had been married to a mage, and throughout the years, he realized magic wasn’t as bad as he first was forced to believe. He witnessed the worst of it for most of what he could remember of his life and never had a chance to see the good it could do, and he had been too much blind with his rage and anger and need for revenge to acknowledge it at first.

Its beauties were in Anders’ healing abilities, in the soft light wisps mages would summon in the nights where it was so dark it felt like the shadows were about to engulf the troops, in the ways normally offensive spells were turned to a more useful use; to help rather than deceive. Perhaps magic didn’t destroy everything it touched, after all.

After their reconciliation of a sort, Dorian’s demeanor changed a bit with him. It was as if the prospect of being a possible lover had kept him from showing his real personality, and now that it was out of the way, he was showing his true self. It hurt Fenris to realize Dorian had been hurt enough in the past to hide himself behind a wall of smiles and flirtatious jokes, but he was glad to see he was comfortable in his presence now.

The Inqusitor asked him to accompany them to the Valley of the Sacred Ashes to face Corypheus one last time. It would complete the circle, and Fenris wouldn’t have it any other way. He ended up sharing a tent with Dorian because Jayden stayed with Cullen and Solas was the only one comfortable enough with Cole.

The first night they shared the tent, they were too exhausted from the day’s travels for things to be awkward on Fenris’ end, but he woke up in the middle of the night. He waited and listened, as perhaps a sound was the reason he woke up, but there was nothing except for the deep breath of Dorian sleeping next to him. His vision was almost excellent in the dark, and he opened his eyes to Dorian’s face a few inches away from him. It wasn’t particularly cold that night, but Dorian seemed to seek any heat source.

His face was calm in his sleep, relaxed, and Fenris took a moment to remember his features that way; the straight line of his nose and his jaw, the curve of his lips, the smooth grain of his skin… He turned around and went back to sleep.

The next morning he woke up to Dorian doing his morning routine, shirtless. The large expanse of his back was muscular, ridden with a few scars paler than his skintone, but what intrigued Fenris was the large golden tattoos running from his shoulders down to his hips, where they disappeared in his trousers. He’d never seen them, probably because Dorian always made sure to cover his back. He also had some on one of his arms, he noticed when Dorian turned to him.

“Morning. I was about to wake you,” Dorian said, and Fenris looked into the mirror installed on the table to meet his eyes. “I know you don’t grow facial hair, and I thought you needed some peaceful sleep.”

“Mm. Nice tattoo.”

“ _Gratias tibi ago_ ,” Dorian smirked as he focused back on his shaving. Fenris straightened in his bedroll, drank some water. Outside, the camp was already full of activity. “A gift from myself to myself for my one-year anniversary of running away.”

“What does it represent?”

Dorian drew a pause, pretending to concentrate on a particular part of his jaw, but Fenris knew better from his tense posture.

“You don’t have to tell me—“

“Necromancer wards for the most part, but I also included some time travel equations when Felix died.”

Fenris leaned on a hand to reach forward, gently tracing an intricate design close to his spine. “They’re beautiful. You shouldn’t hide them, they’re part of you.”

Dorian didn’t reply, only turned to give him a look. He cleared his throat and resumed what he was doing. Fenris took an apple and Garrett’s diary from his bag and ate while reading and waiting for Dorian to be ready.

“I’m almost done,” he said after a little while. “I just need to fix my moustache.”

Fenris grunted, reading some funny story, and didn’t pay much more attention. It wasn’t until a scent hit him, and he took a deep breath. He brought the book to his nose, but it wasn’t it.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That smell…”

“Oh it’s my wax.” Fenris came beside him and picked the small jar. He opened it and drew a deep breath. It was smelling the same as Garrett’s.

“Does this remind you of someone?” Dorian softly asked, already knowing the answer.

Fenris nodded, muted. He closed the jar and leaned towards him. Dorian’s eyes widened before he realized he was smelling his moustache, and the mage retreated with an embarrassed chuckle.

“It doesn’t smell the same on you.”

“It’s probably my cologne you’re smelling.”

Fenris hummed, then rose and began to put on his armor. He didn’t want to think about it right now. They had a big day ahead, saving the world and everything.

Dorian and Fenris were to fight together against Corypheus’ forces, as their fighting techniques complemented each other’s. Fenris was used to see Dorian’s flames and colorful wards, the dead walking with a flutter of his staff. Fenris was covering him, helped by Cassandra and Varric.

At some point he turned and was distracted by the sight of Dorian casting a powerful spell, his magic oozing off him like static that gave the elf goosebumps. To his surprise, Fenris felt exhilarated by the sight instead of scared. He knew Dorian would never hurt him, but his enemies were doomed from the moment he had his sight on them.

The dragon was no piece of cake, yet it ended dead like the rest, its blood splattered all over Fenris. Afterwards, they watched the breach get closed by Jayden and Corypheus finally die once and for all. It hadn’t been easy, but they had done it. Cheers exploded among the troops, and Fenris found himself shaking hands and hugging the persons he was closest with. Dorian went for taking his arm like brothers in arms, but Fenris wrapped him in his arms, blood and guts included. Dorian was quick to relax and return the hug, and the elf had a breath of his scent before he let go. He smelled of magic and cinnamon and of a cryptic fragrance only he smelled of. He wasn’t Garrett.

Fenris realized he hadn’t helped the Inquisition entirely for the greater good, if he was honest with himself. He had selfish reasons as well, he thought that staying meant he could grasp unto Garrett’s remains, even if the mage only had stayed a few weeks before departing for his last journey. Perhaps Fenris had meant to stay only for a few weeks as well, but he was glad he stayed.

Festivities occurred a few days later, once they’d returned to Skyhold. Thedas’ biggest threat had been defeated, everyone wanted to celebrate. Even nobles who had been against the Inquisition were sending gifts, and Fenris suspected Josephine of not sleeping for a few days to prepare everything in time. Knowing her, she probably had begun while they were still away. Fenris mingled with the rest of the companions, spoke with Jayden, yet he found the one he wanted to talk to most was not in the throne room.

Fenris found Dorian outside in the battlements, looking up at the clear sky.

“There’s nothing anymore to hide the stars,” he commented as he approached him. Dorian turned to him and smiled at him, his face relaxed and opened. He had a flute of wine in his hand, but he didn’t look drunk.

“Just an ugly scar to remind the world of what we accomplished.”

“Isn’t that what scars are? Reminders of what we overcame?”

“Mm. Perhaps. I’d rather not discuss of life and death tonight.”

Fenris leaned his arms against the edge, the wind soft against his face and neck. “Let’s not then.”

They stayed for a moment silent, simply enjoying each other’s presence. Dorian’s glass was quickly emptied, yet he didn’t return inside to get another one.

“You look handsome in the moonlight,” Fenris admitted. The light enhanced his beautiful features, and he couldn’t stop looking at him, at his mouth. To his surprise, Dorian’s cheeks went red.

“Says the one whose hair glows right now.”

“Does it?” Fenris took a strand and tried to see, but it looked as white as usual.

“No, but I made you look,” Dorian chuckled a little. His fingers played on the stone in a nervous habit.

“I mean my words. You’re beautiful, but your true beauty resides inside. You grew on me, Dorian, and I have come to realize that perhaps I don’t only consider you my friend anymore. I know Iron Bull and you had a fling, but you walked away from that relationship and haven’t taken a lover since.”

“Are you saying…” Dorian didn’t finish his sentence, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes hopeful.

“Yes. If you’ll still have me.”

“How couldn’t I not want you, amatus?”

“ _Ego te amo_ ,” Fenris whispered against his lips, and he was kissing him. Dorian leaned into him, placed a hand against his hip to bring him closer, and Fenris went without a complaint. It was a soft, Dorian tender and gentle with him despite the fact he’d seen him hack demons in pieces.

They backed away to breath. Fenris cradled his face in his hands and raised on his tiptoes to find his lips again. He wanted more. Dorian grabbed his waist to help him, a hand brushing against his ass before going up again.

“Come on, if we stay here, the guards won’t want to patrol here.”

“For some reason, I doubt that,” Dorian replied easily, brushing away his hair who was escaping his bun. Fenris laughed, a free feeling he thought was lost forever. In the hands of a necromancer, nothing could stay dead for long.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Ab imo pectore** : "From the bottom of my heart"  
>  **Bonum vinum laetificat cor hominis** : Roughly "Good wine warms up a man's heart" (This one was translated from Latin to French to English, so ya know how that can go)  
>  **Ego te amo** : "I love you"
> 
> I'm the [Cap](http://captain-amoruca.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


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